


Lords of Bone and Ash

by thelightofmorning



Series: Tales of the Aurelii [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adultery, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Child Neglect, Class Issues, Corpse Desecration, Crimes & Criminals, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Incompatible Mixed-Orientation Marriage, Misogyny, Prequel, Religious Conflict, Violence, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-23 10:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20890829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: Rustem Aurelius is finally in a place to destroy the ones who murdered his allies and friends in Hammerfell. He intends to leave nothing but scorched earth for the Mede dynasty and the Empire it rules.Irkand Aurelius doesn't have much going for him, but he is loyal and he is deadly. Now all of that will be put to the test as he faces his own flesh and blood.Skyrim is the nut between the stones of these brothers' grudge. If it should be ground to dust between them, neither of them particularly care what consequences may come.And all the while in the east a general watches and waits for her time to act...





	1. A Broken Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, war crimes, imprisonment, misogyny, alcohol use, classism, criminal acts, religious conflict, corpse desecration, emotional trauma, child neglect, child abuse and mentions of genocide, adultery, torture, incompatible mixed-orientation marriage, child abandonment and child death. So ‘The Summer King’ is after this, I promise. Maybe.

“Motierre, Motierre… You naughty, naughty boy.”

The low, hoarse voice from the darkness startled Armand Motierre. “Come out!” he ordered, hating how high and squeaky his own had become from fear.

A cruel chuckle echoed across the chamber. “When I’m in the mood, old boy, when I’m in the mood.”

“Rexus!” Motierre ordered shrilly.

“He’s asleep,” drawled the voice. “This little discussion is between you and me.”

“Are… are you…?”

“Dashingly handsome, a considerate lover and devastatingly charming? Yes, I’ve been told that.” The shadows began to recede, the dim light from the candles of the disgusting effigy glinting off the haft of a spear with a long head. Maybe it was a poleaxe instead. Well-worn boots of black leather appeared, and then well-formed legs in skin-tight black and blood-red leather hose, and then finally a fantastically muscled torso that was obvious beneath the cuirass. Now, Motierre could see the eyes, blue as burning copper, and the tips of long iron-grey braids. “But I imagine the cousin you want to kill has harsher names for me.”

“You’re… You’re…”

“The Red Hand of Hammerfell. Last Child of Satakal. Lord of the Spear.” The assassin’s smile was as empty and pleasing as an open grave with a finely carved headstone. “But you can call me Rustem and rejoice in the fact that you will be the only of your kin to walk away from a meeting with me.”

“Well, thank for you for Decimus, I’m a big fan of your work.” Motierre was babbling, he knew it, but anything was better than the silence of this place and the presence of this man.

“So you’ve finally scraped together the coin to kill that old cunt on the Ruby Throne,” Rustem continued musingly. “Let me guess – the Thalmor floated you a loan? They’d love a puppet Emperor.”

“I can pay for this myself!” Motierre snapped. “My Elder Council amulet as a down payment and the rest on delivery!”

He fumbled in his pocket for the letter and thrust it at Rustem. “It has all the instructions in there for your Speaker to read.”

Rustem blatantly cracked the seal and read the letter. “Nazir owes me an ale,” he said. “Doing the whole ‘let’s kill all the men and marry the only woman’ thing even thought she’s your cousin? Just so you know, you’re a disgusting human being.”

“You’re the assassin! And that wasn’t for you to read-“

“Little man, now I know what to do, I actually could kill you right now,” Rustem said almost tenderly. “Only the thought of disappointing my brethren leaves you alive. Don’t push me.”

Motierre choked on the bitter words that rose to his lips. Rustem was an unrepentant murderer, as opposed to his brother Irkand, who was a holy one.

“So you have some wisdom. Maybe you’ll see that throne yet.” Rustem held out his hand. “The amulet, if you please.”

Motierre couldn’t drop the gold and amethyst gaud into his hand soon enough.

“Be a good boy, Motierre, and you’ll receive everything that you deserve.”

It was a few moments before Motierre realised that Rustem had gone and that he’d pissed himself during the entire meeting.

…

“You read it.”

“Of course I fucking read it, Astrid. Full disclosure, remember?” Rustem leaned his infamous naginata against the wall and gave her that deceptively lazy smile. “Old boy’s got a flair for the dramatic, I must say.”

Astrid scanned the letter and found herself forced to agree with Rustem. “Killing his way through the Imperial line of succession. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t so…”

“Tacky? Obvious? Prone to going bollocks-up?” Rustem finished sardonically. “Killing Vittoria Vicci makes sense. That’ll get Mede up here. Same with killing Maro Junior. But framing him for treason? Dickhead doesn’t know my ex-wife and her loudmouth husband.”

Astrid ignored Rustem’s commentary about Sigdrifa and Ulfric with the ease of several months’ practice. “You don’t like the masquerading as the Gourmet to kill the Emperor?”

“It’s moronic. I’m guessing Motierre isn’t a gourmand and somehow missed the fact his Imperial cousin has half a dozen stupid cousins stupid enough to play body double.”

“He _is_ paying us a lot of money,” Astrid pointed out.

“I bet he’s counting on Maro Senior pouncing on whichever poor bastard gets the job of killing Mede. Probably me since he knows I want that fuck bad.” Rustem studied his fingernails with a studied nonchalance. “If you ask me, killing Vittoria and then our dear Commander Maro will hurt Mede more. Junior’s got very little command experience. He’ll either be afire with righteous rage or downcast with grief and make a lot of mistakes.”

Astrid nodded with reluctant admiration. Rustem had the best tactical mind of the Family. He wasn’t a Sigdrifa but he was capable of thinking several steps ahead. “Motierre can’t argue if it gets the same results.”

There was a cruel glint in Rustem’s eye. “Once we have the payment, Motierre won’t give a shit. I want scorched earth for the Mede/Motierre clan, Astrid. Let Akaviria be the last survivor – assuming she doesn’t get killed by someone else.”

“That could be dangerous,” she pointed out.

“If Sigdrifa has half a brain, she could not only throw the Legion out with minimal casualties but possibly strike south into County Bruma because Cyrodiil will be in such disarray,” Rustem countered.

“Huh. Let me run that by Sigdrifa before we embark on _that_ part of the plan,” Astrid suggested.

“Fine. So what will we do in the meantime?”

Astrid smiled sweetly. “Prepare to attend a wedding, of course.”


	2. Return to Solitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and mentions of war crimes. This is as close to a prequel as Irkand gets, because he’s a hard man to define without making him stereotypical.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go through with the wedding, Vittoria?”

“Good idea or no, it needs to happen,” Vittoria Vicci, one of the maternal cousins of Titus Mede, was telling Rikke as Irkand entered the office of Castle Dour. “Asgeir’s not as insane as the other Stormcloaks and mostly seems to be going through with everything because of his father.”

“We have credible rumours that an attempt may be made on your cousin’s life,” Rikke said slowly.

“So _that’s_ why the old bastard isn’t coming to my wedding,” Vittoria observed sourly.

“That and he might be a little nervous about sharing a city with Laina South-Wind,” Hadvar, Harnbjorn’s son, said wryly.

“My niece is loyal!” Irkand snapped, drawing their eyes to him.

“No one doubts that,” Vittoria said soothingly. “Not here, at least.”

“Torygg trusts her to send her west to study Dragon Cult ruins,” Hadvar told him.

“What the _fuck_ is my niece doing in the Reach?” Irkand demanded of Rikke. “There’s no way she could deal with the things that live there!”

“I know you’ve been in the east for a while, but that niece of yours has killed innumerable draugr, two Dragon Priests – and kept their masks to boot – and exorcised the Pelagius Wing before walking out with Wabbajack,” Rikke said quietly. “That’s before we take into account that somehow, Sigdrifa’s mother Catriona managed to infiltrate Cyrodiil and give Laina an extensive education in Forsworn magics. If it’s the same Catriona who taught Conjuration at the College of Winterhold sixty years ago – and the faculty told me it’s very likely – your niece is more akin to a one-person army _before_ we throw in Argis the Bulwark, who’s considered a warrior equal to most of the Companions.”

“Save your pity for the Silver-Bloods,” Hadvar suggested with a grin. “I heard Torygg’s given her carte blanche to deal with them.”

Irkand still wasn’t pleased to know his niece had been sent out to a wild place full of cannibals, necromancers and Daedra worshippers, but he knew that there wasn’t much he could do about it. “So Mede isn’t coming to the wedding. Do I need to tell the Marei to reinforce security in the Imperial City?”

“They’re already doing it,” Vittoria assured him.

“We should increase security at your wedding too. I’ve heard it’s to be public.”

Vittoria sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It needs to be public to see that the Empire is committed to reconciling our differences with the Nords.”

When Irkand opened his mouth to protest, Rikke shook her head. So he remained silent.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend my gown fitting at Radiant Raiment.” Vittoria studied Irkand for a moment. “You should go there. You can’t attend my wedding in armour.”

Then she swanned out and after the door had closed, Rikke indulged herself in a rare curse.

“There’s optimism and then there’s madness,” Irkand agreed. “Can we cancel it?”

“And have the grandees of Solitude after our heads? No,” Rikke sighed.

Hadvar rose to his feet. “I’ll run those guest estimates to Captain Aldis. He’s a sharp one. Sir, ma’am.”

The hefty Quaestor removed himself and Irkand walked over to the sideboard for a drink. “Sigdrifa’s still biding her time,” he remarked.

“Or trying to get everything under control. After the autumn Moot, Bjarni in particular has been giving her headaches.” Rikke smiled crookedly. “I’ve got a couple agents trying to sway him to our line of thinking. He’s a lot more tolerant and cosmopolitan than you’d think with his parents, and my agents think that if he won’t join our cause, they might be able to sway him to go somewhere else.”

“Yes, we heard the story of the barmaid in the Rift,” Irkand admitted. “Someone has also started a little ditty about Ulfric’s marriage to an old Falkreath she-troll that sounds suspiciously Dunmer in style.”

Rikke’s eyes widened. “No!”

“Yes. Maybe you should ask Viarmo if his students know it. I’d sing but…”

Rikke chuckled long and low. “I might at that. I’m glad you’ve arrived, Irkand. It’s been confirmed Rustem’s in Skyrim and is working with the Brotherhood.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I saw what he did to Grelod the Kind. Not that she didn’t deserve it, but…”

“Armand Motierre’s dropped beneath our notice. I guess his Thalmor overlords have ponied up the cash.” Rikke accepted the drink Irkand handed her. “I’m worried, Irkand. Akaviria’s in Skyrim – Whiterun, in fact, with the Companions of Jorrvaskr. She’s safe there but security’s like a sieve in Solitude. Torygg’s conspiring with the Forsworn over something and Rustem’s wandering around Skyrim with murder on his mind.”

“The Forsworn have no love of Ulfric and Sigdrifa,” Irkand said slowly.

“No, they don’t. I think Torygg’s grooming this Argis the Bulwark to become Jarl. Igmund’s useless and the Silver-Bloods are Stormcloaks. I’ve heard Argis is petty nobility, if not royalty, by the old Reach customs and is well-liked by most of the Reach, Nords and Bretons alike.” She drank some mead and smiled crookedly. “Do you know by Reach law Laina’s a princess? Catriona was Madanach’s cousin.”

“I knew that Laina had learned some things from a Reacher herbwife…”

“Hagraven. Catriona was… or still is, possibly… a Hagraven.” Rikke smirked. “She’s still a better person than Sigdrifa.”

“_I’m_ a better person than Sigdrifa and I assassinate things for Arkay,” Irkand reminded her.

Rikke swallowed the rest of her drink, set the cup aside and reached for him. “You know you’re more than that, Irkand Aurelius.”


	3. Bound Until Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. When you think about it, Rustem’s definitely a villain protagonist and Irkand an anti-hero on the level of the Punisher. They’re both kind of arseholes in their way and are proof that everyone is the hero of their own story. Because I’m playing with the main questline, certain events will be eliminated or altered to suit it.

“They’re offering a lovely little reward for you in Solitude,” Nazir drawled as he dropped a poster on the table in front of Rustem. “Almost equal to your true value.”

Rustem quickly read it. “The description’s insulting but the amount’s flattering. Has a stocky Redguard with short grey hair, Akaviri shortswords and studded leather armour been seen in and around Castle Dour?”

“Of course. It’s fairly well known that Arkay’s Blade and the Legate Primus of Skyrim have been having an affair for years,” Nazir confirmed. “Didn’t they know each other in the Great War?”

“So I’m told.” Rustem swallowed his ale. “It’s cute my dear brother thinks I’m going to kill every Mede, Marei and whatever idiot gets in the way personally. The only one I want to execute is Titus. Everyone else can be dispatched to the Void as seen fit.”

“Irkand assumes that every kill you make is personal.” Nazir clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “It’s a pity we never got him on our side.”

“No, it isn’t,” Rustem told him. “Irkand needs a good reason to kill, something that convinces him he’s ridding the world of someone worse than himself.”

“Oh, like _those_ aren’t any better than we who do it for coin or fun.” Nazir shook his head again. “They’re worse. Far worse.”

“Amen, my Brother.” Rustem poured himself some more ale. “Does Astrid have any ideas? Pity it’s a daytime wedding, because I’d send Babette.”

“I’ll be doing it,” Gabriella announced as she swanned into the kitchen. “Astrid wants Imperial attention diverted for now, so the wedding cup of wine shared by the happy couple will be spiked with berserker poison.”

“Sigdrifa’s okay with a Stormcloak being sacrificed like that?” Rustem asked, eyebrows rising.

“Asgeir’s not particularly loyal to the cause. His sister Lilija is… and she’s more pliable. Sigdrifa’s apparently got plans for her.” Astrid sauntered into the kitchen, a poisonously sweet smile on her lips.

“Is everything a tool to the Stormsword?” Rustem asked.

“Yes, including herself.” Astrid sighed, her expression melancholy. “The High-Mother… Well, Shieldmaiden training might have made exemplary warriors, generals and priests, but it was horrid. We’re taught to have no attachments beyond Talos and ourselves, for the will of the gods was all. I don’t think even Sigdrifa mourns the death of the High-Mother and the rest at Yngvild. _I_ certainly don’t.”

For a moment, Rustem almost pitied Sigdrifa. It certainly explained a lot. “You managed to not be a cold uncaring…”

“Sigdrifa cares. She just can’t comprehend that not everyone is suited to the lifestyle of a priest-warrior. She mourned Laina, you know. Part of the reason she wants to overthrow the Empire is so that her sons don’t need to die for what they believe in.” Astrid sighed again. “But Laina’s made it clear that she hates Sigdrifa and thrown in with the Empire. Can you believe she cast Muffle on Sigdrifa at the autumn Moot?”

“Speaking as a Dunmer from Windhelm, I thought that was bloody hilarious,” Gabriella said with a grin.

Rustem frowned. “She won’t be at Vittoria’s wedding, will she?”

“No. Torygg sent her west with some half-Reacher brute named Argis to study Dragon Cult ruins.” Astrid shrugged. “Don’t worry, Rustem. While you’re with the Family, I won’t take a contract out on her. If she’s wise, she’ll stay in the Reach until Skyrim is liberated, and cross over into Hammerfell afterwards. Nords don’t forgive traitors.”

“Safiya would welcome her with open arms,” Rustem said quietly.

“So, the wedding?” Gabriella asked, changing the subject.

“You better get going.” Astrid smiled. “Sithis is already preparing the wedding meal for the happy couple in the Void.”

…

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Gabriella said to Veezara as they entered Solitude together.

“All it takes is one sharp set of eyes to ruin everything,” the Shadowscale answered calmly. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“The discord in the family.” The Argonian sighed. “We’ve never had a problem with our head’s political leanings because it paid well and most of us have no reason to favour the Empire.”

Gabriella grimaced. “I’m from Windhelm, remember?”

“As am I, after the destruction of the Shadowscale training facility. Both of us owe Astrid but…” Veezara sighed again. “What allegiance is owed to a woman who treats our peoples as scum, abandons her own daughter and then gets angry over the fact that the daughter’s very rightfully pissed off?”

“Astrid’s loyal to her friends and family. That makes her blind to the woman’s faults.” Gabriella wrinkled her nose. “But our Brother with the bladed spear is hiding something. We only had rumour of Motierre. He found the man and answered the Sacrament.”

“The Sacrament done in a secret…” Veezara trailed off, his eyes widening. “Oh sweet and sacred darkness, I think he’s… the one our Mother speaks to.”

They climbed the ramp to Castle Dour and the courtyard of the Temple of All Gods. Even here, Gabriella could hear the merriment. “Could you distract the guests? I need to add a little something to the wedding cup.”

Veezara did so and Gabriella cast Invisibility, sneaking up to the balcony where Asgeir and Vittoria would toast each other. Powder of fly amanita and blisterwort was mixed in with the bottled spiced wine. Then she returned to the courtyard just as the Invisibility spell wore of.

No one thought of the Dunmer woman taking a seat on the balcony to watch the ceremony or the Argonian who entertained the guests with elaborate acrobatics that drew cries of delight from everyone. Gabriella idly wondered if Cicero had gotten lost… Then she remembered what Veezara implied, that Rustem might very well be the Listener, and realised that the Redguard might have left Cicero at Dawnstar knowing full well Astrid’s temperament.

She respected Astrid, she truly did, but having a separate Sanctuary was probably a good idea.

By the time Asgeir and his bride went mad, stabbing each other, no one cared about the Dunmer and the Argonian who left quietly.

…

“The wedding cup was poisoned, not with something that killed a person, but a berserker poison commonly used in Eastmarch,” Torygg said grimly, leaning against the wall as the court and the Legion command tried to figure out what went wrong. “Blisterwort and fly amanita.”

The High King of Skyrim was usually a handsome, affable young man whose dapper sense of fashion was the talk of three provinces. But now the frown on his face showed that the Nord berserker warriors of his ancestry weren’t too far away.

Both Asgeir and Vittoria were dead. “We should have locked it down and damned what she thought,” Irkand finally said. “Could this be an act of the Dark Brotherhood?”

“Undoubted. Sigdrifa is said to be friends with the Speaker, one Astrid.” Torygg grimaced. “We know the main Sanctuary is somewhere in Falkreath.”

“Then we will set men to finding it. And when they do, Direnni Fire will do the rest,” Irkand said softly.

Rikke gave him a horrified look. “Irkand, you could set half of Falkreath Hold afire!”

“Not if we use sandbags to contain it.” Irkand smiled thinly. “Sand can extinguish it.”

Torygg frowned. “I’m not sure I like it.”

“Falkreath is full of rats, Your Majesty.” Irkand shrugged. “Perhaps if Siddgeir is impoverished before he is Jarl, he will learn some restraint.”

“Or go further into debt with the Thalmor,” muttered Torygg.

“Better the devil you know than the one that isn’t,” Rikke said quietly. “I’ll consider what course to take when we find the Sanctuary.”

“Agreed,” Torygg said with some relief. “If that’s it, I need to return to Elisif. She’s quite overwrought over what happened.”

Rikke nodded and the High King left.

“Can we stop them?” she asked when they were alone.

“My brother isn’t in charge. Astrid is.” Irkand smiled thinly. “Depriving Sigdrifa of an ally is a bonus.”

Her smile was reluctant. “Good point. I’d set Falkreath ablaze myself to stop that woman.”

_Pity she doesn’t live there,_ Irkand thought. _Pity indeed._


	4. Direnni Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism.

Going off to Mzinchaleft to kill a renegade Dunmer sorcerer gave Rustem an excuse to go through Whiterun, hire a certain amoral mercenary who treated murder as art, and bring her to the Dawnstar Sanctuary afterwards to make sure Cicero had some living company. He’d hated to leave the jester alone, he truly did, but him and Astrid would have been as catastrophic as Direnni Fire together.

“LISTENER!” Cicero shrieked. “Poor Cicero thought you were… his imagination.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Rustem told him with a sigh. “I made contact with Motierre, got Astrid’s people on the job, and had to pick up a new Sister and kill someone on the way back.”

“Is he usually like this?” Jenassa asked in Dunmeri.

“Yeah. Sheogorath’s got a timeshare in his head because he’s the last of the Cyrod Brotherhood. Humour him.” Rustem smiled at Cicero. “Keeper, this is Jenassa, who will be Speaker of the Dawnstar Sanctuary.”

Cicero dimpled at her. “Cicero is pleased to meet his new Sister. Would you like to stab Jarl Skald to celebrate? No one likes Jarl Skald here.”

“No unauthorised killings unless you’re establishing yourselves as mercenaries here.” Rustem pursed his lips. “You know, I might take a few days to do that. The Mede job’s on the simmer because we need the Marei in Skyrim, so we should make ourselves known as mercenaries now.”

“Better yet, try to become Thane,” Jenassa suggested. “Didn’t the locals say something about nightmares when we walked through town?”

Rustem nodded, smiling. “Very well, Speaker Jenassa. We’ll establish ourselves as local minor nobility. Diplomatic immunity comes in handy when you’re an assassin.”

The nightmares turned out to be from Vaermina and of all the things he expected his new Sanctuary to do, exorcising a tower with a Priest of Mara hadn’t been one of them. Erandur’s expression clearly indicated that he damn well knew who and what Rustem and Jenassa were, but given his desire to expunge the sins of his past, the Dunmer kept his moral objections to himself. Vaermina urged them to kill the cleric and take the Skull of Corruption for themselves. Rustem told her to piss off and waited for the evil staff to be banished. A repentant man deserved a second chance.

After that, all he and Jenassa had to do was kill a giant, find a book on Redguard culture for Seren’s and Rustleif’s unborn child, give Karl a drink, and mine some ore for Leigelf. They didn’t even need to purchase some property down near the border of Whiterun, but Rustem decided to anyway in case the Brotherhood ever got a chance to expand.

Four days it took Rustem to become minor nobility of the Pale with diplomatic immunity everywhere in Skyrim. When Commander Maro came to the northern province, it was going to make his life so much the easier.

…

“Rustem did _what_?”

“Recruited someone to join Cicero at the Dawnstar Sanctuary and got himself made a Thane of the Pale,” Veezara reported quietly. “I know he should have gone through you first, Astrid, but honestly? Having Rustem in his own Sanctuary will reduce the conflicts in this one and Sithis knows we have enough work for two between the Mede contract and Sigdrifa.”

“It’s the principle of the matter, dammit!” Astrid grabbed handfuls of hair and pulled on them until her temples ached. “He’s thumbing his nose at me, Veezara. At our Family.”

“I’m not so sure,” the Argonian said softly. “Rustem isn’t stupid. He’s set it up that we can make Maro look like a tyrant when the time comes. Hammerfell benefits from a weakened Empire as much as a free Skyrim would.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the political side of things?” Astrid asked him.

“I don’t. If Sigdrifa dropped dead tomorrow and Ulfric followed her, I can tell you now every Dunmer and Argonian in Windhelm would celebrate. But Rustem wants to make the Empire hurt and it’s in your interests to help him. Swallow your pride and need for control. He’s found a way to get what he wants without having to obey you.” The Argonian shrugged. “You can’t control everything, Astrid.”

“Rustem’s coming very close to the end of his use,” Astrid muttered, turning away. “And that use was limited to begin with.”

It was high time they got rid of archaic rules. Let Rustem’s little Sanctuary be sacrificed to throw the Empire off their scent. It would be Astrid who struck the killing blow to Mede for the sake of Skyrim.

…

_“We found it. Just outside of Falkreath. Password is ‘Silence, my brother’.”_

Irkand placed his hand on the Black Door, staring blankly at the horrific paintings on it, and whispered, “Silence, my brother.”

It opened and he slipped inside, Muffle-enchanted boots casting no sound, every inch of his armour enchanted to increase his stealth and killing skills. It was night and judging from the snores in the nearby room, everyone was asleep. Let a murderer purge the world of murderers.

He laid down the Direnni Fire in a glistening trail from the Black Door through to the entrances of the dining room and what appeared to be the living quarters. Then he crept out silently once more to the Black Door, leaving it half-open as he cast Flames. The mixture sparked and he slammed the door, running for the hills.

They said later that the smoke of the explosion could be seen in Whiterun. Irkand relaxed. Even if he hadn’t totally eliminated all of them, he’d gotten most of them, and the survivors would be too demoralised and disorganised to rally.

He smiled as he climbed into the carriage to Solitude. Now he only had to worry about protecting Akaviria.


	5. Delays in Pale Pass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism.

“Sithis have mercy on their souls,” Rustem said, closing his eyes as he beheld the blackened ruins of the Falkreath Sanctuary. From the looks of it, Direnni Fire had done most of the damage, the earthen walls of the ancient tomb containing most of the damage.

“Who did we lose?” he asked Nazir, one of the few survivors. The Crown had been on the Safia mission in Solitude and Gabriella on the old woman’s murder in Whiterun, but everyone else was unaccounted for.

“Astrid, Arnbjorn and Festus,” was the grim answer. “Veezara was chasing leads on the arrival of the Penitus Oculatus and Babette had the Helvard job. Who could have done this?”

“Probably my baby brother,” Rustem said flatly. “He’s firebombed a lot of necromantic covens in a similar way.”

He turned away to face Nazir. “Look, I know me and Astrid didn’t see eye to eye. That’s partly why I was setting up a new Sanctuary in Dawnstar. But I don’t rejoice in this, I swear by Satakal.”

The foliage rustled and Babette, swathed in a stolen scrap of canvas, emerged from the shadows. “I had to stay hidden,” she said weakly. “The sun…”

“It’s okay,” Nazir assured her. “We think it was Irkand Aurelius.”

“Of course it was. He’s killed several dozen necromancers in a similar manner.” Babette’s expression was grim. “I’ll leave a message only Veezara and Gabriella will see. Where do we meet?”

“For now, the Dawnstar Sanctuary. I’ve got land in the Pale near Whiterun for an estate, but that needs to be put on hold for now.” Rustem turned away with a scowl. “I’m not happy. This sets us back a fair bit.”

“Does it?” Babette’s question was shrewd. “If Irkand thinks we’re dead or scattered, he’ll get sloppy.”

Rustem laughed. “My brother never gets ‘sloppy’, Babette.”

“But he might think we’re too disorganised to go through with the Emperor’s murder and relax a little.”

“Remember, Babette’s the only true veteran we have now,” Nazir said softly.

“I forget sometimes,” Rustem admitted. “Can you all get to Dawnstar safely? Travelling together will draw attention.”

“I’ll take Babette with me,” Nazir promised. “When can we expect you?”

“In a couple days. I want to buy us some more time.” Rustem smiled grimly. “Travel’s going to be difficult through the Pale Pass for a month or so.”

Before Nazir could ask anything else, he began to stride for the path that led to the titular pass between Cyrodiil and Skyrim. Let Mede and Maro travel by sea. It would give them more time to prepare an… appropriate… welcome.

And if trade should be crippled… Oh well. Hammerfell would profit from it somehow.

…

“An avalanche?” Commander Maro asked in disbelief of his son Gaius.

“Yes. I saw it myself. Even with Synodic mages clearing the pass, it’s going to take until spring. If we melt the snow, more will come down, they tell me.” Gaius shrugged helplessly. “I think the Stormcloaks are making their move, Father. It’s too convenient.”

“One well-placed Destruction spell could have done this,” Maro agreed with a sigh. “No help for it but to travel by sea. We should have realised Vittoria’s death was the first sign.”

“I thought Nords were loyal to their compatriots?” Gaius asked as they walked back to the Emperor’s carriage.

“You’ve never met the Stormsword. She’d sacrifice the world to Dagon if she thought it would give her victory.”

His father took the news better than Maro expected. Nor was he particularly surprised at it.

“I always knew I would die in Skyrim,” the old man said, peering up at the Jeralls. “If the trip takes longer, it will buy Akaviria more time.”

“Grandfather, you’re not going to die,” Gaius began, only to be silenced by a wave of Titus’ hand.

“Yes, I will. Motierre made contact with the Brotherhood and the Madgoddess promised as much in a dream. Your job, your only job, is to keep your sister alive, Gaius. Irkand and Rikke will help you as much as they can.”

“Could Irkand have betrayed us?”

“No. And it wasn’t that chit Laina either. No… I think it’s Rustem Aurelius.” Mede’s smile was frosty. “Even Sigdrifa wouldn’t think of blocking Pale Pass with an avalanche.”

“If it _is_ Rustem Aurelius, the day you die will be the last Laina draws breath,” Gaius vowed fervently.

“No!” Mede’s tone was sharp. “Do you think I wanted to let the girl live after her deception of us? No. But I was told quite firmly by no less than the High Prelate of Akatosh that if Laina dies, the Empire dies with her. The Madgoddess only reinforced that promise.”

He sighed. “The greatest gift I can give the Empire is my life. Do not waste my payment of it.”

Gaius bowed stiffly. “As you wish, Grandfather.”


	6. Breaching Security

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. We’re baaaack to the merry band of murderers. Time-skip of a few months. Posting may be erratic because – hey – I’ve now got a leaking roof again.

Winter had come and gone, spring creeping across the land. The snows melted on the plains, the mountain flowers bloomed, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief for the winter had been a long, cold and strange one.

Rustem patted Heljarchen Hall’s entrance as two workers put the last touches to it. Delvin Mallory of the Guild had been quite happy to transfer Astrid’s credit to the rest of the Brotherhood and found a bevy of labourers who kept their mouths shut in return for a good pay. The Sanctuary in Dawnstar had been cleaned up, but a Thane required a visible home, and so they built Heljarchen Hall near Whiterun. Jenassa and Gabriella lived here while Veezara, Babette and Cicero remained at the old Sanctuary. Nazir and Rustem were more mobile, seeking potential new recruits to fill out a Sanctuary in the west. News from the Reach was promising as Sithis was considered an old god there and Muiri said it was now legal to worship them since the new Jarl took over.

She herself could only help discreetly as Argis was her cousin. But she would help, for Rustem was family now, as Laina – Laina! – had married the man over the winter. He’d have sent a gift but from everything he’d heard from Muiri, she’d throw it – and a Destruction spell – in his face. Admittedly with a little justification.

The sound of hooves on the road caught his attention as Nazir, mounted on a magnificent palomino gelding, rode up to the hall. The other Redguard jumped off the horse and ran over, his face tight with excitement. It had been a grim cheerless winter for Nazir, so anything that got him anything other than dour had to be important.

“The Penitus Oculatus have set themselves up in Dragon Bridge,” he announced. “Both of the Marei are here.”

“Of course they are. Father and son are joined at the hip.” But Rustem was grinning. “Are you still for going after Maro Senior?”

“Yes. He hauled me up and was abusing me until he realised I didn’t have braids and blue eyes,” Nazir said with a twist of the lips. “If it’s feasible, can I please kill him?”

“I make no promises because I need to talk to everyone, but if no other ideas come up, you can have him,” Rustem replied.

That night, everyone was gathered in the dining room, sitting back with ale or wine or blood after one of Cicero’s excellent meals. Who knew the Fool of Hearts was a gourmet chef? Even Nazir was momentarily mollified by the good food to not bitch and moan about his… quirks.

“We’ve spent all winter licking our wounds, taking on small contracts that no one will connect to us, and rebuilding our lives,” Rustem said at the head of the table. “The Marei have arrived in Haafingar. They’ve set up at Dragon Bridge. That means Mede will be here in less than a month.”

“Finally,” Jenassa said with a fierce grin.

“I want Maro Senior dead. I know Motierre’s original plan was to frame Junior for treason, but we’ve all agreed that he is a fucking idiot. I want someone untried and grieving in the role of commanding the Penitus Oculatus, not a pissed-off courtier with experience and connections.”

Veezara nodded. “Agreed. My intelligence tells me that Junior is trained but untried, hot-headed and impulsive.”

Gabriella arched her eyebrows. “I didn’t know you had that kind of intelligence network, my brother.”

“A friend in Bruma. She should have been a Shadowscale but the Cyrods put her in an Imperial Workhouse – with Rustem’s daughter, apparently. She’s in the tax service but moonlights with the Bruma Thieves’ Guild.” Veezara shrugged modestly. “Maybe when things are sorted, Neela-Tai can join us in Skyrim.”

“Hopefully. She’s given us some useful information.” Rustem drank some ale. “Now, I’m thinking Stormcloak atrocity because it will draw attention from us and keep it squarely on Windhelm. I’m sure Mede and Senior know Motierre is behind this but one will be paralysed by fear and the other dead. Junior may even do us the favour of going to Windhelm and removing certain irritating individuals.”

“He’ll die before he reaches Ulfric,” Gabriella said with a sigh. “Sigdrifa’s security is excellent. She’d have made an excellent Dark Sister.”

Rustem shuddered. “Sure, if you like a sociopath with no regard for human life or sentimentality running things. Days like this I miss Arnbjorn. He’d have been perfect for the role.”

Nazir leaned back in his seat, sipping wine. “Jenassa and I are both familiar enough with Nord weapons to do the deed. Kill him in a main city, scream for the Stormcloaks or something, and leave a weapon in him.”

Babette was shaking her head. “I prefer mugging gone wrong.”

“He’ll likely be coming to Whiterun,” Gabriella mused. “We’ve got an outstanding job for Heimskr. One Frenzy dart near the preaching Talosite and…”

“Damn, that’s diabolical and I love it, but won’t that just give the Stormcloaks another martyr?” Rustem asked.

“It was Sigdrifa who made the request. He’s drawing too much Thalmor attention.”

“Reverse it,” Nazir suggested. “Heimskr was a soldier in his day and Maro will be sloppy.”

“Frenzy dart for Heimskr, Slow dart for Senior,” Rustem decreed with a grin. “Crazed Talosite goes on rampage when he is faced with the Emperor’s bastard son. It’s beautiful.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an equal opportunity asshole?” Nazir asked dryly.

“No, but I do like the sounds of it.”

…

Ria hugged herself as the local Priest of Arkay took the bodies to the Hall of the Dead. Beside her, Gaius was sickened with grief and rage, his fists clenched in fury.

Heimskr, previously considered an irritant, had gone mad and butchered Gaius Maro the Elder in front of his children. For some reason, her father’s reflexes weren’t what she remembered and he wasn’t able to fight off the crazed preacher.

“It was the Aurelii,” Gaius growled. “Grandfather said they were coming for us.”

“Rustem? Possibly. But Laina or Irkand? No,” Ria said softly. “They’re loyal.”

“Grandfather said that if Laina dies, the Empire dies,” Gaius said flatly. “Ria, we should return to Cyrodiil – or at least go to Solitude.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I need to be a Companion of Jorrvaskr first. I need to prove to the Nords that we understand their honour and respect it.”

“My job is to protect you!”

“And mine is to keep the Nords in the Empire.” She wrapped an arm around her brother’s shoulder. “We could speak to Andurs. Father will receive full honours as the Emperor’s son. It’s the least he deserves.”

Privately, she decided that if she should run into Rustem Aurelius while she was in Skyrim, he would die by her hand. That way one danger to the Empire would be removed.


	7. A Necessary Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence and fantastic racism. The Dark Brotherhood questline is truncated in the Aurelii canon because Rustem isn’t a complete idiot, so ‘Recipe for Disaster’ and ‘The Cure for Madness’ will be skipped, ‘To Kill an Empire’ will be different, and ‘Hail Sithis’ will be somewhat different.

Spring was well and truly on its way, even in the Pale, when the news of the Emperor’s ship docking in Solitude Harbour arrived. It had been five weeks since Maro’s arrival in Skyrim, three since his death, and Irkand knew that he had to face Mede with his failure on his conscience, such as it was.

By the time he was let into the Emperor’s Tower, Irkand realised that Mede now looked every one of his eighty-three years. Even the regenerative magics practiced upon the Emperor by the Synodic mages were failing. Or he had stopped them.

“Do not blame yourself,” Titus said as Irkand rose from his bent knee. “This was foretold.”

“I don’t understand,” Irkand said, brow furrowing.

“Your great-grandmother informed me several months ago that my death was coming,” Mede said quietly. “She seemed to relish it.”

“The Madgoddess isn’t known for her understanding of geopolitics,” Irkand pointed out. “If you die-“

“Akaviria is Empress. She’s in Whiterun at the moment, as I’m sure you already know.” Mede sighed heavily. “Gaius will do his best to protect her. I have another job for you.”

“Tell me,” Irkand said simply.

“I want Motierre dead. I will not let him profit by my death. If you can manage it, I’d like to see Sigdrifa and Ulfric dead too, but I don’t want you throwing your life away. Rustem…” Mede sighed again. “I have plans in place to deal with him.”

“I will kill him,” Irkand promised softly. “There’s no love lost between my traitor of a brother and I.”

Mede shrugged. “As you wish. But Akaviria needs you alive, not dead. There’s worse coming than a civil war, Irkand. That damned niece of yours will stand at the heart of it. The High Prelate of Akatosh told me that if she dies, the Empire and more than the Empire will fall.”

“Laina is loyal,” Irkand said quietly.

“Loyal to Torygg, who’s shown more of a spine and cunning than I expected and the Elder Council will like.” Mede’s smile was crooked. “He’s gotten the Forsworn – the fucking Forsworn of the Reach – on our side. A new Jarl rules the silver mines of the Reach, a powerful and popular Jarl your niece is married to. Oh, and she’s embraced Forsworn ways.”

“The interdict holds only in Cyrodiil.”

“Dammit, Irkand, I know your family are Septims!” Mede burst out in sudden anger. “I know you’re loyal! But that bloody niece of yours, through luck or design, is married to a Jarl who’s got two thousand witch-bred Daedra-worshipping fanatics, the richest mines in Skyrim, and what seems to be the favour of the gods on his side!”

“Laina has no desire to rule,” Irkand reminded him.

“I believe that. If she had, I would have killed her, Madgoddess be damned,” Mede said through gritted teeth. “But what of her children and her children’s children? If she were a man or a few years younger, I would have married her into the Marei. If I’d been a couple decades younger, I’d have married her myself and gotten an heir with Septim blood.”

“So marry one of her children to one of Ria’s! It’s not that fucking hard!” Irkand retorted, his own anger rising. “Can you really blame her for concealing her identity after what the Thalmor did to the Blades?”

He choked back the rage in his voice, trying to keep his tones even. “What more do you want of her? She’s rejected the Stormsword, ruined Stormcloak operations in the Reach if a Forsworn Jarl is leading…”

“Your niece is too beautiful, too clever and too competent by half,” Mede said wearily. “She’s Martin fucking Septim in female form, possibly down to the fact she’s a fucking Dragonborn. And from what the High Prelate’s telling me, I can’t muzzle her, because it will be… bad.”

Irkand paused, silent for several long moments as he put facts together. “By the gods,” he breathed, “We’re one sign away from the Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn and the return of Alduin World-Eater.”

Mede blanched. “That… makes frightening sense. Irkand, forgive me, but I pray she does as Martin Septim did for the sake of my granddaughter. A new dynasty of Longhouse Emperors with Septim blood terrifies me.”

“Laina is not a monster.”

“But she could be.” Mede closed his eyes. “I know what the Third Blade’s duties truly were, Irkand.”

Irkand inhaled shudderingly. “To execute the Dragonborn if they should be dangerous to the world.”

“Yes.” Mede opened his eyes. “I know you care for the girl and maybe she’s all you say. But I must think of my family. Your brother’s taken my son and my first heir. He will slay me. If Laina so much as _glances_ in the direction of the Ruby Throne, I need you to kill her, Arkay’s Blade. If the Dominion finds out that the Septims still exist and one of them has the potential power of Talos…”

Irkand gave Mede a sick glance. “You’re asking me to put the survival of the Empire above all else.”

Mede nodded. “You did it once, Irkand. I need you to do it again.”

One life, even a cared-for one, compared to millions. To a Knight of the Circle, it was a choice he’d made dozens of times to protect the world. Who knew what anger and resentment lurked in Laina’s soul, potentially powered by the Thu’um?

He nodded reluctantly. “If she does so, once Alduin is dead…”

“Thank you.” Mede turned away. “For your sake, I pray she’s what you say she is. But with the soul of a dragon, I need to be prepared.”

“I understand.”


	8. To Kill An Empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. Rustem is an equal-opportunity arsehole and Irkand is an obedient idiot. Sigdrifa is honestly better to write for because she has some fucking goal other than kill people who piss her off. I’ll be glad to be done with these two, honestly. If my roof doesn’t collapse, this story will be finished within a couple days.

_“The Emperor’s coming to Falkreath to examine the damage to Pale Pass from the other side.” Rustem laid the letter down on the table before the others with a grin. “It’s showtime, people.”_

He opened his eyes as the sound of Colovian accents reached his ears. He was bloodied and battered; the rock on his chest hurt. What the _fuck_-

_The ride down from the Pale had been easy. Cutting through the Rift and Haemar’s Pass allowed them to come onto the road to Helgen undetected._

_ **“Get up,”**_ the Night Mother urged. **_“Arkay’s Blade is coming.”_**

** ** _FUCK._

Rustem used Telekinesis to remove the rock on his chest and call his naginata to his hand. It drained his underdeveloped magicka, which meant that as he staggered to his feet, he couldn’t heal himself. Cracked ribs, scrapes, bruises. Irkand would find him easy prey.

A quick glance told him Veezara was missing, possibly dead under the rockslide. Direnni Fire, his brother’s signature. “Satakal _dammit_…”

“Twenty-five years and you’re still a selfish cunt. Did you ever care for anyone other than yourself?”

Irkand’s oiled-silk tenor. “Fuck you,” Rustem said hoarsely. “You sold our family out.”

“Actually, I was killing Naarifin at the time in the Emperor’s armour,” his brother corrected in that deceptively mild tone. “I’m given to understand it was Dengeir who warned the commanders at Pale Pass. Sigdrifa just let everyone else believe I was responsible as it suited her agenda.”

“Oh, poor victim Irkand,” Rustem spat. “Why did you let Laina rot in the Imperial Workhouse?”

“Because for eight years I had every reason – like you, like Sigdrifa – to believe she was dead!” Irkand retorted. “She gave them a false name, you know.”

“I know. She probably always was the smartest of us.” Rustem pulled himself straight with his naginata. “She’s made a good life for herself.”

“She’s put herself square in the sights of the Elder Council,” Irkand said bitterly. “Do you know she may very well be the Last Dragonborn?”

“The Last Septim. The Last Dragonborn.” Rustem spat blood and grinned. “Married into the Forsworn, I hear. What does it say about Sigdrifa’s side that the Hagraven’s probably the nicest member of the family?”

Despite himself, Irkand smiled. “It comes as no surprise.”

**_“He has promised to kill your daughter if she should be like Talos,”_** the Night Mother warned.

_Fuck. You._

“I might be a selfish cunt as you say,” Rustem said through gritted teeth, “But at least I’m not a fucking tool. Have you ever had an original thought in your life, Irkand?”

“Plenty. But I was raised to put the greater good above myself.” Irkand sighed and drew his wazikashis.

“You’ll kill me and you’ll kill Laina if she’s a threat to Mede,” Rustem said disgustedly. Magicka was trickling back in slowly, but he didn’t waste it on healing. He just needed enough for a Flame Cloak spell. Irkand had always been shit at magic. “If that’s the greater good, you can shove it up your ass.”

Irkand stepped back, his expression pale. “How…?”

“I’m the _Listener_, you fucking idiot.” Rustem bared his teeth in a bloody grin. “You didn’t even come close to killing the Dark Brotherhood. In fact, you removed a significant pain in the ass for me and did more to piss off Sigdrifa than I ever could. Thanks, my dear brother.”

“I might be a tool,” Irkand said flatly, advancing. “But I’m not a liar, a deceiver or an adulterer.”

Once he was in range Rustem triggered Flame Cloak. Irkand screamed as his left ebony wazikashi melted all over his hand, falling back as arrows filled the air. Putting on the burst of adrenaline that was Tall Papa’s gift to the Redguards, Rustem bolted for the treeline, laughing all the while.

He was joined soon after by Veezara. “That was closer than I liked!” the Argonian said. “I was trying to find a good shot to take that bastard out!”

“Mede’s in Solitude,” Rustem said through gritted teeth. “What do you say we go and kill him before my brother recovers? He’s probably holed up on the Katariah, his personal boat.”

“Ship,” the Argonian corrected automatically. “But yes. Let’s disappoint your brother. I see why you hate the man.”

They vanished into the forests of Falkreath as Irkand’s screams and the curses of the Legionnaires rang out across the Hold.

…

“Don’t bother about a healing potion,” ordered Arcturus. “If Irkand hadn’t hesitated, we’d have killed the bastard.”

“But sir-“

“Commander Maro’s orders were clear. If Irkand fails, he dies.”

Survival instincts honed by years of murdering people and nearly being murdered by others had Irkand rolling down the hill towards the road to the Rift. He choked down his screams by pulling out a healing potion and yanking the cork out with his teeth, then drinking it. It abated the agony of his ruined left hand enough for him to pick himself up and start towards Haemar’s Pass.

He wasn’t surprised by young Gaius’ decision. The young man feared the Aurelii – with some justification – and wanted to make sure there were no more threats to his sister Akaviria. Irkand could understand that intellectually. He would have done the same.

But there was one truly responsible for all the sorrows in his life. The former friends who hunted him. The looks of disgust given to him by some Legionnaires.

_Dengeir._ The man who would have killed Laina for existing. The man who hated magic. The man who had betrayed Irkand’s family.

It was three days of fever-raddled healing and an amputation before he was able to crawl out of the alchemist’s shack he found and another two to gather the strength to walk to Falkreath-town. The gaunt Redguard with one hand attracted no attention as he entered the Jarl’s longhouse. Probably a beggar looking for alms.

Dengeir was asleep. Irkand considered waking him up but decided against it. So instead he simply cut the sleeping Jarl’s throat and left Falkreath-town. Back to Haemar’s Pass and the one place he might be able to hide from a vengeful Sigdrifa and Gaius Maro.

_Riften,_ he thought. Even a one-handed assassin had the skills to be a Thief, he imagined.

The Stormsword would be nothing by the time he was through with her. When he delivered the evidence Torygg needed to convict her and her husband and her sons, Gaius would know he was loyal… and Laina wouldn’t have to be the Last Dragonborn.

He smiled. It would be the last one for a very long time.


	9. Hail Sithis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. Penultimate chapter of this story. Irkand gets the Thieves’ Guild storyline if I write it.

The Listener needed a lot of healing potions, so Veezara mixed what he could, stole some more, and made certain that Rustem drunk every drop. He was up and about within a day – the Redguards had remarkable healing capacities – and then they cut through the Reach, travelling openly but across the country, to reach Haafingar. Given the Forsworn’s new allegiances, he didn’t dare approach them, and Muiri was in Markarth and out of touch. They were on their own.

Rustem had cut his braids and shaved his head. “You need to leave the naginata too,” the Argonian pointed out.

The Listener studied the weapon and sighed. “You’re right. We’ll be stopping in the next town. I want to send it to someone.”

That next town was a Forsworn camp called Karthspire and that someone was his estranged daughter Laina, who could be a figure of power and prophecy. “Sons of the Void,” greeted the Hagraven formally. “We’d heard you were killed…?”

“Not even close,” Rustem said with a weak version of his charming smile. “I need you to send something to Laina South-Wind. The naginata.”

“So you’re the ones trying to kill the Emperor?” the unholy creature asked bluntly.

“Bastard’s got it coming. Can you send the naginata to Laina?”

The Hagraven paused and then shook her head. “No. I sympathise with you. The Empire betrayed us too. But we can’t stand alone. So we must be nominally loyal to them.”

Rustem nodded. “I understand, Matriarch. My naginata’s a unique weapon.”

“That is it.” The Hagraven scratched her chin thoughtfully. “I can send it down to Hammerfell. Laina’s grandmother Catriona’s a friend of mine and I’m given to understand that… which one are you again?”

“Rustem. The brother who isn’t an Empire ass-kisser.”

“That’s it. Laina’s da. Well, I’ll send it to Elinhir. Laina said you had family down that way.”

“I do.” Rustem closed his eyes. “My son would be a man now.”

“I had sons. The Stormsword took them and they died in the lowlands.”

Rustem sighed. “_If_ I survive this and _if_ it is feasible, I’ll see what I can do about that. Skyrim would be improved by her leaving of it.”

“Yes,” the Hagraven agreed. “I will carry a verbal message to Laina if you want.”

“Tell her…” Rustem paused, choosing his words carefully. “Tell her that she’s the best of the Aurelii and she’s gonna save the world one day just like her great-great-grandpa Martin, only try not to die doing it. That would please too many people.”

“I will.” The Hagraven sounded sympathetic.

“Thank you. If I can, I’ll send Sigdrifa’s Talos amulet. You can piss on it or something.”

The Hagraven laughed. “I appreciate the thought. Go with the blessing of the Dread Father.”

Three days later they reached the road to Dragon Bridge. Rustem handed Veezara a vial of poison. “Lotus root. Dump it in the Penitus Oculatus’ stew pot. I want as many of those bastards dead as possible.”

The Shadowscale nodded and slipped off into the shadows. Within an hour he returned, smiling grimly. “It is done. Gaius Maro the Younger ate two portions.”

“Gluttony can be dangerous to your health,” Rustem said lightly.

“That it can be.”

They waited until it was night and swam across the harbour to the Katariah. Rustem was weakening by the time they reached the ship, so Veezara gave him the last healing potion. There was an underwater hatch for Argonians that they were able to enter. Thank Sithis for Muffle enchantments.

Titus Mede was alone, studying a gold-hilted katana. “You’re late,” he said without looking.

“We stopped off to kill Irkand and Maro Junior,” Rustem said with a hoarse cheerfulness.

“Damn you, Rustem. Is there no end to your malevolence?” The Emperor turned around. He was ancient by human standards, his face like crumpled paper.

“Your world-skin has smothered others long enough,” the Listener whispered. “You abandoned Hammerfell. You betrayed the Nords. You made my daughter’s life hell. Your son murdered my friends.”

“And how have I offended you, lizard-man?” Mede asked Veezara with some asperity.

“I lost friends to you when Irkand destroyed the Falkreath Sanctuary. But I’m here because I’m a Shadowscale. It’s nothing particularly personal on my part. Just loyalty to the Listener.”

“Rustem Aurelius, obeying orders? Now truly, I have lived to see the end of days.” Titus Mede sounded more amused than anything else. “It may very well be, you know.”

“Yeah. Alduin’s gonna come back.” Rustem’s speech was slurring. Exhaustion or something worse. “My daughter will kick his scaly ass from here to Sovngarde.”

Mede smiled thinly. “She might at that. But she could be the next Talos, you know.”

“It’d be the least your Empire deserves.” Rustem studied his fingernails. “If it’s any consolation, Motierre will be dead once he delivers the coin and Sigdrifa will soon follow. A lot of people will make way for new worlds because they belong to old ones.”

Veezara decided that Redguards were strange. Even the all-wise Hist couldn’t understand them. But he humoured the Listener.

“So get it over and done with,” Mede said flatly.

“As you wish,” Rustem said, picking up the katana. Poetic justice, Veezara supposed.

As soon as Rustem’s hand closed around the katana, a Fire Rune exploded, engulfing him and Mede in flame. Veezara fell back a few steps, casting frost magic to subdue the flames. But by the time they were extinguished, it was too late.

“Heh. Clever bastard,” Rustem croaked. “Knew I wouldn’t survive this. Take out Motierre and Sigdrifa… will you?”

“We will,” Veezara promised.

“Throw the Imperial Seal in the water,” the Listener suggested. “Fuck ‘em all.”

Veezara took the ornate ruby seal. “Find peace in the Void.”

He threw a Frost Rune behind him before leaving the Katariah, jumping off the Emperor’s personal deck. The Imperial Seal was left in the muck and mud of the harbour.

**_“Motierre is in Whiterun,”_** whispered a ghostly woman’s voice. **_“Go to him, Shadowscale, and send him to the Void once he tells you where the coin is.”_**

_Night Mother?_ Veezara wondered.

**_“Yes. Tell Cicero when you return to Dawnstar that darkness rises when silence dies.”_**

The Binding Words. Veezara was the new Listener!

He paused, looking over at the Katariah. His head bobbed above the surface as he considered briefly. Then he threw a firebolt or three.

Let the Listener be escorted to the Void in flames with dead soldiers to cry in lamentations forevermore.

**_“Hail Sithis.”_**


	10. Death Incarnate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence and fantastic racism. The next story and final prequel is ‘The Summer King’, which will cover 4E200 and Torygg’s last year as King of Skyrim. Glad you’ve stuck around this long. I couldn’t have written it without you.

Sigdrifa raised a toast to the dead.

Astrid’s cairn at Yngvild was little more than a few stones, more for memorial than to mark where she was buried. She had served Skyrim well until her death at the hands of the Empire. Sigdrifa would bring down her sword partly in the name of one of her few friends.

Once the snowberry wine was poured over the grave in libation, Sigdrifa turned towards her horse. Things were moving swiftly, the outrage of King Torygg’s actions in the Reach kindling the spark she and Ulfric had worked so hard to fan into a conflagration. Ulfric had wanted to start at the Spring Moot, but Sigdrifa persuaded him to wait until the Autumn Moot, the season of the harvest before the coming winter. A year since her humiliation in Solitude.

In a perverse way, Sigdrifa was proud of Laina. It wouldn’t stop her from dealing with her eventually, but she was proud of her.

When she arrived, she realised her horse was dead. Leather scraped across the snow and Sigdrifa spun around to see a figure in red and black approaching her.

“I know about Astrid,” she began, only to feel a piercing pain in her chest.

The assassin fired another ebony arrow into her chest. Sigdrifa slumped to her knees in pain. “Why?” she asked.

“The Listener… the old one… made a promise,” whispered an Argonian voice. “You have smothered too many others with your world-skin. Let it be swallowed so other worlds can grow.”

“You sound… like Rustem…” Sigdrifa tried to find the words to convince the lizard she was better off alive. “Kill me… and who will help… your family…”

“My family died during the winter you ruled.” The Argonian knocked and drew back a third ebony arrow. “I was already a Shadowscale by then, but they died because you didn’t think non-Nords deserved a proper ration of firewood.”

The third arrow took Sigdrifa in the throat and as the darkness took her, she imagined that Rustem was greeting her with a smile… and the ghosts of those she’d sacrificed for the greater good were waiting for her with grim expressions.

“Nn…oo…”

“Hail Sithis,” the lizard-man whispered as he turned away.


End file.
